Return Of The Royals
by Melissa Waters
Summary: What if the death of the royal family was staged? What if for the last year, they've been held captive by Avenia, and finally after a long time Jaron finally finds out and decides to save his family? Will he get used to having a family again? How will his family react to meeting him? Will his family's return spoil the wedding? Or will the royal family be whole again?


"Release them!" the boy shouted. Darius peered through the small hole in his prison, holding onto the thick bars to keep him from falling down. There, a few hundred meters away, standing on a hill, beyond the boundaries of the Avenian camp, mounted on a horse was a boy. At least, Darius thought it was a boy. He sure sounded like a boy.

At the moment, the stranger and the leader of the Avenians, Taleth, who stood at the bottom of the hill, his men standing armed behind him, were discussing the release of the prisoners; Darius and his parents. He hoped, they were the prisoners being talked about.

"Why would I? What will a boy king like you do to me? I have three hundred of my best soldiers in this camp!" Taleth answered. His men cheered behind him, lifting their swords up.

"You will release them, or you will face my soldiers. You see... there are twice as much of us than there of you." Behind the boy, a massive amount of armed men rode onto the hill, their blue capes flailing in the air. The view silenced Taleth for a moment and made Darius furrow his brow. He squinted and could faintly see the gold on the capes as well. Carthyan colors.

"You could have brought three thousand of your best men, Jaron, but you still won't be able to win. "

Darius heard his parents, who were pressed against him, peering out of the window as well, gasp at the name. It felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. Jaron? His little brother? No, it wasn't possible. Jaron was somewhere in the world, far away. How could he suddenly be here? With six hundred soldiers?

"You will address His Majesty with his proper title, you filth!" The man next to the stranger, no Jaron, screamed, but the boy lifted a hand to silence him. They conversed something in a quiet tone, and after a while, the man nodded and led his horse slightly backwards. Even from this distance. Darius could see the small movement he did with his hand, and the men behind him straightened up.

"I'm giving you one more chance, Taleth. Let my family go, and leave." Jaron's voice was calm, but Darius knew better. Jaron was furious. Even after five years, Darius could read the signs that he was. The way he straightened his back and lifted his chin. How he sat still as if waiting to be ambushed. And of course the calm voice. Jaron was almost never calm like this.

"It doesn't work like that, dear boy."

"I guess you can run away screaming if that's what you want. I just figured you might want a more graceful retreat."

Taleth snarled at the boy. "Never."

Jaron shook his head as if disappointed. Then he looked back at the man who had spoken up and gave him a nodded. Suddenly the man lifted his hand up, fingers spread wide, and a dozen flaming arrows flew from behind the crest of the hill, aimed at the Avenians.

Only a few men had enough time to scream before they were put down by an arrow in their chest or through their neck. While most of the men were focused on the arrows, about a hundred or so men started up the hill, shouting insults at the Carthyans.

Jaron lifted his sword into the air, let out a furious scream, followed by his men, as he urged his horse down hill. Within seconds, the two sides clashed, and blood flew everywhere. Men fell, both Avenians and Carthyans.

In their cell, Darius, Erin, and Eckbert backed against the furthest wall, away from the window, not knowing what to do. That was when a crash sounded behind the door of their cell, and a few grunts.

Someone was behind the door.

After a few seconds, the sound of keys jiggling filled the air, and the lock started turning. The door opened quickly, and a man stepped inside. He wore traditional Carthyan armor, though he didn't wear a helmet. Instead, his dark and bald head stared back at the heavens, glistening with sweat. Darius felt very intimidated by him.

"Who are you?" Eckbert asked shakily, and the man turned to look at him, his dark eyes filled with mixed emotions. Darius couldn't quite see what they were. Anger? Disgust? Nothing positive, he was sure.

"My name is Mott, King Jaron's personal bodyguard, At least I like to call myself that. But I didn't come here to have a tea party and get to know you. I'm here to get you out. So let's get moving. It won't be long before someone notices someone I broke in here. Follow me." Mott's voice was low and commanding.

"Jaron's alive? How? He died in the pirate attack, five years ago!" Erin asked, her voice shaking, as Mott moved to open the shackles attached to her wrists.

"He is alive and the king of Carthya. I'll explain later. We don't have time." The chains fell off the Queen's hands and Mott moved to Darius. Within seconds his shackles were on the ground as well, and the young man moved to massage his wrists.

Mott moved to Eckbert and Darius noticed that he wasn't being as gentle with him as he was with Erin and Darius. Something about Eckbert seemed to upset Mott.

"Is he a good king?" Eckbert croaked out. Mott nodded.

"The people love him. He is just, brave, selfless and can connect with the people."

"I'm not sure we're talking about the same person."

That made Mott mad. He leaned in until his face was only an inch from Eckberts and hissed with such venom that Darius felt his blood run cold:" When he was a boy, sure, Jaron was a handful. He disobeyed the rules and rebelled against your will. He was arrogant, and selfish and naive. But he changed. He was forced to grow up, because of you.

"You may have saved his life when you kept him from returning to the castle, but you took away his childhood. You took away everything he ever knew, without a real explanation.

"Your fourteen-year-old son was crowned king and thrown into a war only months later with not one, not two, but three countries, each more than twice the size of Carthya. And you know what? He won. He led his armies to battle, riding first into the enemy lines. He faced execution, escaped the gallows, climbed a cliff with a broken leg, escaped an assassination attempt, was whipped because he couldn't reveal his real identity as the prince and went in disguise into Avenia to destroy the pirates who had tried to kill him all those years ago, and became one of them, just to protect his country.

"We are not talking about the same person. The Jaron _you_ knew, was a child. The Jaron _I_ know is a king."

With that Mott busied himself with the chains, ignoring the stunned looks the royals were giving him. Darius felt his heart tearing. His little brother had gone through all that? He didn't even want to think about it.

Finally, three pairs of chains were laying on the floor, and the three prisoners and Mott were racing up the stairs to the outside world. The bright sunlight blinded them for a moment, but they kept going forward, letting Mott lead them into the nearby forest.

Darius risked a look behind at the battlefield and felt a bang of guilt in his gut when he saw the number of bodies.

Although most belonged to Avenians, there were about thirty men down wearing Carthyan colors. But inside it all, he could see Jaron. His golden armor shone in the sunlight, his cape nowhere to be found. His left cheek was bruised, with a long cut, and his right side was drenched in blood. His hair was matted with dirt, sweat, and blood. But his face was full of determination, as he cut down another Avenian.

It was him. Darius was sure of it. It had been five years since he had seen his little brother, but the fierce look in his eyes was one of a kind.

Suddenly, a stone hard grip closed around his dirty collar, and Darius found himself being pulled through the forest by Mott, his parents stumbling on the man's right side. Both were breathing heavily, not having had a lot to eat in the past year, and almost no room to really move. They hadn't had this much exercise in months.

"Slow down, please. We can't go this fast," Eckbert pleaded, and Mott, who hadn't broken a sweat, gave him a glance, continuing at his fast pace.

"It's only a matter of time before someone comes to check on you, and notices you're gone. The faster we get away, the better."

"As your king, I command you to slow down!" Eckbert huffed, and Mott stopped so fast that the slightly older man ran head-on into him.

"You are not my king. Jaron is. And he gave me this order. I'm going to follow it."

After that, they traveled in silence, thankfully at a slightly slower pace, wondering what was happening on the battlefield.

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Slash. Cut. Jump. Dive. Slash.

The words flew in my mind, as I cut down the enemies, one by one. I was covered in blood, both mine and my opponents. My arms were aching from the wounds, I had gathered in the battle, along with the weight of the sword.

A huge gash on my side burned, but instead of screaming in pain every time I was reminded of it, I cursed the devils and fought on. I even created a few curses of my own.

I lunged forward, and swung my sword in a wide arc, slashing the throats of two Avenians open. I grimaced at the blood, as it splattered on my face; I wasn't very fond of killing men, even if they were my enemies. Every time a man lost his life, I was reminded of the families that they had left back at some village or city far away.

Not all of them were even volunteers in the army. The Avenian soldiers were so big in numbers because the men were forced to join the army.

Something hit me from behind, sending me sprawling onto the ground, my sword flying from my grasp. As I started to get up, I felt something press me to the ground, and the sharp blade of a knife appeared on my throat.

"Get up, slowly," I heard Taleth mutter, and I followed his instructions, not wanting to have my throat slit. Once I was standing, Taleth screamed at everyone to stop, saying he would slit my throat if they didn't. Immediately the battlefield quieted down.

"I told you couldn't win. You should've listened to me," he whispered into my ear, and I smiled.

"And I told you to let my family go and leave in peace. I gave you a chance to leave gracefully. I guess now you need to leave screaming."

I drove my elbow into his stomach with my left arm, and with my other, I grabbed the knife from his grasp. I twirled around, turned him the other way, locking his arms around his back, and put the knife on his throat. Everything happened so fast, that it took a moment for anyone to understand what had happened.

"Order them to surrender, or I promise they will never get another order from you again," I said to him, and soon enough the Avenians had all put their weapons down, and were being put into chains some of my soldiers had retrieved from the carriages we had left a few hundred yards away.

I had the Avenins who had been wounded cared for, but only after the healers were ready with my own soldiers unless the wound was serious. We had won the fight.

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I was walking through the neat line of bodies covered in white sheets, feeling my heart being torn to pieces. There were about seventy bodies, seventy of my men lying dead on the ground. Seventy families back at Drylliad, who would live their lives without a family member.

"Jaron?" I turned around to see Tobias, a friend of mine standing only a few paces behind me. "I need to take a look at you now."

Though I was covered in cuts and bruises, my biggest wound was the slash on my side, when an Avenian had gotten through my defenses. The wound looked much deeper than it actually was and had stopped bleeding a long time ago. I had made myself a makeshift bandage but knew it would need expert care so that it wouldn't get infected.

"Have the men been looked after?" I had ordered the men to be cared for, before me, wanting to make sure there were no more victims in this battle than there had to be. Tobias nodded.

I stared at him for a moment, before shaking my head and smiling.

"What would I do without you, Tobias?

Tobias gave me a shy smile and rubbed his neck. I walked over to him, and patted him on the back, before giving one last look at the bodies lying around us and whispering a silent apology.

Then we headed towards the small tent behind the fire, decorated with intricate designs. The king's tent.

Men sat around the interior of the makeshift camp, most of them by the fireplace, drinking coffee from mugs, and eating dried meat that had been warmed by a fire.

When they saw me, a cheer erupted in the air, and the men began chanting my name. It felt good to hear it, but I couldn't help but feel guilty about getting all the glory. So, I stopped and held out my hands to silence the crowd.

"My fellow soldiers..." A cheer sounded in the air but quieted down once I began speaking again. "It is not me, that you should be cheering too. You earn as much of this glory, as I do. Many of us have fallen today."

The men lowered their gazes, and some glanced at the hill where the bodies had been taken for the time being. I continued after a moment. "These men, have given their lives. But they will not be forgotten!" The men lifted their heads, sensing I had something important to say. "And neither will we! Tomorrow, we will leave for Drylliad, and we will tell their families, how brave they were! And we will tell our own children, how we fought, side by side with our brothers! And a hundred years from now... the children will say: ' Remember Bob? He was there, fighting against the Avenians." I walk over to one of the soldiers; Bob, a red-haired middle-aged man, as I speak, and pat his shoulder, earning a smile from the man. "'Or old pal Nicholas?'"

I point at a man at the opposite side of the fire. Then I turn around to the hill with the bodies. "'And Thomas! Clayton! Ralen! They were all great soldiers!' That is what the children will say a hundred years from now. We have seen larger battles, but not even the smallest will be forgotten! And we will not be forgotten! Our sacrifices will not be forgotten! We will not forget the brothers we lost today!"

The men rose onto their feet and threw their arms into the air, shouting the names of people who had lost their lives, but the shouts soon changed to chanting my name.

"Long live the King! Long live the King!"

A smile spread across my face, and I unsheathed my sword and pointed it at the sky. The men followed suit, and soon five-hundred-and-thirty swords were being held in the air.

Finally, after a few urges from Tobias, I made my way through the men and entered my tent.

As I stepped inside, I just barely avoided crashing into Mott, as he was heading outside.

"Mott, where have you been? " I asked once I steady myself. I had been worried about my friend when I hadn't seen him after the battle ended.

Before he had a chance to answer, a voice from behind him made my heart stop for a moment.

" Jaron?" It was my father's.

Mott stepped aside, revealing my family sitting on cots at the far end of the tent. My mother covered her mouth with a hand when she saw me, and Darius' mouth was hanging open. My father was looking at me, disbelief in his eyes, his mouth moving, with no words coming out.

There they were. The people I hadn't seen in five years. My family. But something didn't feel right. I didn't want to meet them. No, I was afraid to meet them. But there was some anger mixed in it too. Anger at my father for never accepting me. Anger at them all for sending me away.

"Is that really you?" he continued.

I glared at my father for a moment, just barely controlling the mix of emotions inside me. Then, I shifted my gaze to look at Mott.

"I'll be outside if you need me."

And without a second look, I turned around and walked out of the tent.

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The journey back to Drylliad took two days, due to the injured. There had been only five serious ones, but we had about one hundred Avenians in the carriages, meaning the horses pulling them moved slower than usual.

The Avenians were being brought to court at Drylliad, after being charged with the kidnapping of the royal family.

I hadn't spoken with them, hadn't interacted with them in any way since the encounter in the healing tent. After I had left, Tobias tended to my wounds. The gash on my right side had been a lot worse than I had thought. Curse the Avenian who had given it to me. The wound had been infected - despite my attempts of keeping the infection away before Tobias could tend to me, and cleaning it thoroughly had been torture. Now, I could barely breathe due to the tight bandage around my mid-section.

We entered Drylliad through its massive gates. Immediately we were swarmed by citizens, happy to see their king, husbands, brothers, and fathers were still alive. But I knew, that somewhere in the crowd were the families of seventy fallen soldiers.

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It felt good to be back at the castle.

Jaron had sent Darius, Eckbert, and Erin to Drylliad immediately after they had been treated for, and fed. They were led by Tobias, one of Jaron's regents, through a passage in the sewers, something that would have made Darius uncomfortable, if he hadn't smelled worse than the odor there.

Jaron wanted to reveal that the royal family had been found in an official way, which meant they would be hidden until then. After they made their way through the sewers and the kitchens, they were immediately brought to the royal wing, where they were sent to the baths. It had taken hours for all the dirt to be scrubbed off their bodies, and another two for them to start smelling decent. The servants had helped them were to be held under watch so that no information would leak to unprepared ears.

New clothes were brought to them, and Darius had gratefully slipped the soft shirt and jeans on, relieved to be freed from the rags he had been wearing for the last year.

They had arrived in the middle of the night, so everyone, except some maids and the guard were asleep, giving them a chance to be lead to a room by Tobias relatively quietly, without a big fuss.

Each of them had fallen on their beds without further encouraging, and fallen asleep within seconds. Sleep hadn't been possible in the carriage they were transported in, due to its wooden floor, with splinters sticking out every inch. The carriage was made for speed, not comfort.

They were woken up the next day, by a horn sounding; the sign that the troops were returning. Within half an hour, they were standing on a balcony facing out to the city.

There, a hundred or so meters away, the army was splitting up, returning to their families. But Darius' eyes weren't on the people. They were on his brother.

Barely recognizable from the distance, Jaron was wading through the people, nodding at them at times, and occasionally stopping in front of a woman, and talking to her. Every time he finished speaking, she would bow her head and Jaron would embrace her.

Darius knew what he was doing. He was telling them about the death of their husband, son or brother. But instead of giving him nasty looks, and blaming him for leading their loved ones to their deaths, the people bowed their heads to him or embraced him when he gave them the chance, and this made Darius curious. It took a very special person to earn this kind of respect from the people. At least now he was sure of one thing.

Mott was right.

Jaron had changed.


End file.
